Dacha
by phiewdh
Summary: It always starts the same, when Victor comes close. Victor's chest invades his back, his heat taking him over. Then, Victor's arms find their way around his waist, adding some pressure. Then, Victor's breath that continues to make him heady caresses his skin, just before the kiss he knows is about to be pressed at the nape of his neck. This time wasn't an exception.
1. Chapter 1

The train ride from to Moscow will take a little more than four hours.

Victor booked premium seats on the Sapsan train, Yuuri is told, when they walk side by side on the platform. It's late January, and St. Petersburg is all about snow and reports of record temperatures, which is why the both of them are wrapped up in scarves, knitted caps and parkas that 'are more convenient than anything else' if Victor is allowed a say, which he does repeatedly.

Convenient or not, it's impossible to stay anonymous. At least, it is together with him. No matter what they wear, where they are, what they do, Victor loves the attention he gets. In Russia it's always about him, which Yuuri still has difficulties with. Not that Victor loves it, it's a part of him that Yuuri has embraced wholeheartedly, the way he entrances people and the way they in return add something to his flame. No, it's the attention part that bothers Yuuri. How people instantly flock around them, or around Victor more like, and how Victor takes his time.

Victor is frivolous with his time, that is something else that Yuuri has a hard time accepting. Victor gets lost in meetings, handshakes and air kisses aimed at cheeks, and he gives and gives without stopping. Yuuri usually gets a bad conscience then, for he is usually the one that reels Victor in, the one that reminds both Victor and the people around them that they are people too with things to do, places to go. Lives to live.

Yuuri glances at his mobile phone and steps to the side, just a few steps, and allows Victor and the people around him to have their fill. Of laughs, photographs, touches, poses, questions upon questions.

Instead of being in the centre of the storm, he remembers when Victor, on an evening earlier that week, came to embrace him from behind. When he in turn braced himself and stopped doing the dishes for a while and just listened to what he knew would be yet another Nikiforovian revelation. Something whimsical, no doubt.

That really is the thrill with Victor. Even though Yuuri knows exactly where he has him, whether close or not, Victor keeps peeling off layers upon layers and in the process, giving Yuuri small insights and even smaller glimpses to who he really is. One might think that Victor is a simple creature, fueled by the attention he gets for simply existing, governed by nothing but whim and impulse and open like a book for anyone to read, but throughout the days, weeks and months spent with him, Yuuri has found that Victor is more than that. So much more.

It always starts the same, when Victor comes close. Victor's chest invades his back, his heat taking him over. Then, Victor's arms find their way around his waist, adding some pressure. Then, Victor's breath that continues to make him heady caresses his skin, just before the kiss he knows is about to be pressed at the nape of his neck.

This time wasn't an exception.

Yuuri knew then that he probably shouldn't be surprised, but when Victor came close with his arms embracing him from behind, lips brushing against the side of his neck, he knew it was Victor's way of saying 'I'm sorry' beforehand, for what he was about to say. For as impulsive Victor is, he's also careful. Private. Thoughtful when alone. Adamant about not pushing him and intent on not making him feel uncomfortable.

"Yuuri," he'd heard Victor whisper, as a kiss was slowly placed just above the neckline of his sweater, "I have a question."

"Yes, _Vitya_?"

"I want to show you something. This weekend. Would that be okay?"

Upon hearing that, Yuuri removed his hands from the sea of bubbles and put them on the edge of the sink instead. He never meant to hold on the way he did, bracing again but in a different manner, but that happens more often than not when Victor opens up. Like holding on to something, anything, will make him grounded. Immune to what Victor is about to say, not being able to be swept away.

It rarely works.

"Show me something?" he breathed, lost in thoughts about practise that Friday, the meeting with Yakov and the rest of the Russian team that Saturday and the dinner Victor's supposed to have with sponsors that Sunday. He knew there wasn't any time for being shown anything, let alone do anything else than what was already planned, and he was sure that Victor knew that too. Suddenly, despite it not being completely reasonable, Yuuri found himself curious to find out how Victor managed to spirit away all their got-to-dos and have-to-dos for the weekend. And why this weekend has been chosen as important to diverge from ordinary life.

"Mhm," Victor sighed, kissing his neck yet again, "I think you'll like it. No, I _know_ you'll like it."

"How… how come you haven't shown me this earlier? If you're so sure that I'll like it?"

"I haven't been ready before."

Yuuri listened to the silence, to the things Victor just said and to the things still unsaid. He realised that the moment was important to Victor, a reason wrong to question. But in that moment, Yuuri found himself slightly unsteady, slightly swept away by Victor's unspoken secret. Because that's how it works.

"What makes you ready now?" he asked, turning his head to get a glimpse of those blue eyes that sometimes, no, always say so much more than the mouth that immediately greeted him. Than the tongue that instantaneously met his.

"Well," Victor said, nipping another kiss away from Yuuri's lips, "I've thought about it for some time and decided that it was important to me. I… needed to make sure."

Right there, Yuuri felt a small sting of annoyance inside. Victor being in doubt is the only thing that can make him feel excluded and on trial, like their relationship, no, _he_ is something that needs to be assessed. Like he's not good enough to know everything about Victor before Victor thinks he is. Victor, who is sure and confident in everything he does. Generous with everything and everyone when outside of their home. The way Victor is more, so much more. But for some reason, not now. Not with him.

"Don't be like that, love," Victor cooed, resting his head on Yuuri's shoulder.

That too. The way Victor just disarmed him by just _knowing_. How simple it was and always is for Victor to read him but he, on the other hand, feels flustered and unsure more often than not about Victor and his intentions.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replied after a while, after hearing Victor's slow breaths in his ear and Victor's heart beating against his back. "It's just that Iㅡ"

"I know, Yuuri. Don't worry. You'll understand why later."

Yuuri laughed then. It was a reaction of interwoven emotions, of both being amused and a little annoyed for he knew that he wouldn't get anything else out of Victor. Not now. But he felt compelled to ask, to really try one last time before he said yes to this offer.

"What did you have to be sure about? Before asking me?"

Yuuri felt Victor's hands on his shoulders, turning him around.

"Things," Victor smiled. That heartstopping smile. That supernova smile that burns away anything within Yuuri that resembles sense and resistance.

Yuuri barely feels Victors hand slide to gently grip his elbow. He's still caught in that smile, the memory of that smile. That smile always makes him say yes.

"Yuuri?"

Victor's voice is muffled through Yuuri's reminiscing, and Yuuri starts when he realises that Victor is holding on to him, talking to him. Just like that, he's not in their home anymore, hands dripping of washing-up detergent and battling not so becoming thoughts. He's on the platform, waiting for the train to Moscow in the freezing cold with Victor's blue eyes intently looking into his.

"I'm sorry, he says apologetically, "I was thinking about something."

Victor lets a small huff, one still big enough to let his breath turn into a vanishing cloud, escape him.

"Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri," Victor sing-songs, drawing an invisible curved line underneath the rim of Yuuri's glasses. "Don't be. Oh, we should get on now. They don't wait for anyone."

Yuuri finds that claim unlikely, that the world, or at least Russia, doesn't stop for Victor, but loses that thought when Victor's arm finds its way around his shoulders. He gives in to the the little pull as they start walking towards the front of the train.

Four hours, that's just a little less than one of their usual practise sessions. Four more hours until he finds out what he'd said yes to.

* * *

He never ceases to surprise him. Even after all these months together, for time flies fast when spent with the one you love, Yuuri finds himself nonplussed. Constantly swept away. Remarkably in love, every time.

Yuuri's been taken care of on that train since it left St. Petersburg, by a doting Victor who ordered food and drinks, a Victor who told him to choose whatever he wanted. By a muted Victor who gave him his complimentary blanket when the train had to stop and the cold somehow creeped in, a Victor who also chose to wrap himself up in his parka instead of asking for another. By a loving Victor who told him to sleep, a Victor who hummed into his ear what Yuuri already knew were nursery rhymes, a Victor who whispered sweet nothings after that.

Yuuri's not only been taken care of on that train, he's been loved in a way that almost makes him feel like they are at home and not out in the world and on display. And for that, his love towards Victor can do nothing but swell.

But that feeling of love gets a little chipped, a little torn at its edges, when they get off the train and Victor cheerfully declares that they only have three hours left before they have arrived where they are supposed to. Just a small detail being left out, one that makes Yuuri sigh with defeat.

"We're taking the bus," Victor calls out over his shoulder, leaving Yuuri with their two backpacks to take care of. Two backpacks that are, at least to Victor's standards, packed lightly for a weekend getaway.

Yuuri readjusts them, straps digging into his hand and shoulder as he tries to find the optimum way of carrying them. They teeter and slide as he tries to wrangle them, as he tries not to let Victor's estimated arrival time dampen his spirit. But it's hard, Victor is already several steps in front of him, and Yuuri finds it hard to keep Victor in his sights while veering and dodging Moscow, which is coming at him at full force.

"Wait," Yuuri calls, trying to keep up, "the bus?!"

"Yuuri, this way." Victor's voice is easily distinguished over over the noise, and as much as Yuuri wants an explanation to why they're taking the bus and not the train, Victor offers none. Instead, Yuuri notices that Victor has stopped, now several meters before him.

Victor is pulling a little at his scarf, making it soften up around his neck while he, with his other hand, runs his fingers through his hair. Looking back at him with a smile and a look that needs no explanation.

A lot of things attributed to Victor is a show, Yuuri suddenly thinks to himself. Victor is a true performer, how he constantly has a need to be seen. A need to command. A need to command any space, whether it is an elevator or something as big as a central station.

Sometimes, Yuuri's not sure if Victor's behavior, the way he's perfectly aware, is a show just for him. If he's got the only front row seat or not, or if the world kind of got invited. But the way Victor turns to him there at Moscow's central station, grips the collar of his parka, pulls him in and just looks at him, makes his doubts disappear. That exhibition was, in fact, just for him.

"I can't wait to get there, to show you," Victor breathes against his lips, and Yuuri automatically swallows when he sees those light lashes conceal the blue underneath them.

Yuuri's preparing himself to receive Victor, his eyes slowly closing and his jaw tilting up, his tongue wondering if it should peer out between his lips or wet them but instead, he hears the soft hiss of Victor's leather clad hands slip off his collar. Feels the small tug of it at the back of his neck as Victor lets go.

Just like that, the world is offered to join them again, no, intrudes on them again. It's almost mindboggingly respectless, how the spell dissipates the way it does when Victor enters his space and leaves him like that. How the rest of the world tries to take his place. How Victor says with a laugh, "Three more hours," and continues to lead the way.

" _This better be good,"_ Yuuri mutters to himself in Japanese, fighting the disappointment of his budding arousal being cut short and his flaring annoyance close to breaking free, " _or you'll hear nothing but 'no' for a month."_

* * *

The busride is one Yuuri tries to endure by sleeping. But it's hard, with Victor asking questions, seemingly stupid ones at that. Like the ' _What do you want to do when we get there'-_ question, to which Yuuri responds, ' _I don't even_ know _where we are going'_. Or the ' _Did you give Ekaterina Makkachin's food'_ -question, to which Yuuri sighs ' _No,_ you _did, and she's got the keys, she lives next door'_ , and the godforsaken ' _Why are you so quiet, Yuuri'_ -question, to which Yuuri moans, ' _I don't know, maybe because I'm trying to sleep'_.

It's continuously difficult when Victor understands he's gotten the cold shoulder and tries to make amends, acting like a cat that tries to charm its master into giving it something, _anything_ , by nuzzling and stroking. And purring.

It's downright impossible when Victor pulls up his phone and decides to make a call.

Yuuri listens, with his eyes closed, to Victor's Russian voice. It's slightly different than his English. His English voice is seldom upset, rarely sharp. It's often mellow with a slight hint of brutal honesty wrapped around it. Sometimes, even teasing with all its double entendres and not so subtle innuendos. Always, just for him.

His Russian voice, though, often has a tone he tends to use when being flippant in English, when he acts like whims trump obligations and reasons. When Victor seems to think that the person he's talking to somehow should _know_ that a change of plans, that other priorities are more important than what had been previously decided.

Yuuri listens, and pieces together the small bits of Russian he knows. He's sure Victor knows he's awake, listening, despite that they haven't been talking for a while. He's sure that Victor is consciously not letting him in, using synonyms and phrases that needs a few more years under the belt to fully understand. But he's fine with that, Yuuri realises. He's fine with that, for it's apparent that whatever Victor has planned is something he doesn't want to spoil, something that is important to him. Important enough to make Yakov, it's unmistakingly Yakov on the other end, sound a second shy of becoming livid.

Strange how curse words in either language are easier to remember, Yuuri smiles in secret against Victor's shoulder, listening to Yakov use every single one he understands and probably a lot more that he doesn't.

Victor's voice remains the same through the barrage though, slightly glib and matter-of-factly. Victor definitely has a Yakov-voice.

"There," Victor says, _ecstatic_ , after hanging up. "We're free over the weekend."

Yuuri opens his eyes then, just a little, and feels himself unable to stop that sigh from coming out of him.

"You shouldn't have done that," he scolds, remarkably unsurprised by what he understands just took place, "Yakov will have your head when we get back, and he'll probably cancel your practise sessions."

Victor's arm immediately reaches around his shoulder, pulls him in a little tighter.

"You know," Victor says, almost absentmindedly, while kissing the top of his head, "it'll be worth it."

"Why didn't you tell him sooner? Or better, yet, why didn't _you_ call the sponsors to reschedule? You had time."

"I forgot," Victor says with a shrug, in that mellow tone.

Yuuri knows for a fact that Victor's lying. Victor never forgets, he _prioritises_ , but it doesn't matter and nor does Yuuri care. Not anymore, anyway.

In the beginning, being new to St. Petersburg and new to Victor's relationships with others, Yuuri often felt mortified when voices were raised because of Victor's decisions. Or lack thereof at times. In the beginning, he'd tried to make up excuses for Victor, taking some of the blame too for not knowing better. No, for not knowing Victor better. But after a while, he'd come to realise that Victor's behavior was his and his alone, as well as his business. Now, hearing Victor get reprimanded by Yakov didn't bother him at all.

If anything, it serves as an endearing reminder of how Victor actually works. Planning ahead, he can do and does, often with a fervor. Take the consequences for plans made on the fly, when things, like other people's plans, get disrupted on the other hand… Victor conceals it well though, he has a way of listening, whether to Yakov or whoever else, that makes them think they managed to get the last say. But oh, how wrong they are.

The thing with Victor though, Yuuri thinks to himself, is that even though he gets caught with disrupting other people's plans, reprimands are like water to him and he is a goose. He can take a raging Yakov, screaming at him for a good twenty minutes, with a smile on his lips and lay low for a while. Until he does it again.

Yuuri's still unsure if it's a genius move or that of a complete idiot, but people seem to be quick to forgive Victor and, at least to Yuuri's knowledge, he's never had to _really_ take any consequences of his behavior.

"How much left until we get off?" Yuuri rubs his eyes a little behind his glasses, figuring that it's better to leave the previous conversation. It's a battle he can't win anyway, one he doesn't really feel like waging.

"Oh, Yuuri," Victor laughs into Yuuri's hair, "soon. We just need to get there first."

The meaning of Victor's teasing remark is lost to Yuuri as the bus slowly comes to a stop, in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the Russian countryside, three hours outside of Moscow.

* * *

"Let's go," Victor says, heading down the road in the same direction as the bus after it dropped them off. Still not bothering with their backpacks. Or waiting. Some things never change.

It's dusk now, the sun sets quickly in Russia during the winter. It would have been a nice sunset to admire if it wasn't for the clouds, but Yuuri still feels an anticipation inside despite having to carry their backpacks. It's more like a building curiosity to find out where they are going and what Victor wants to show him, that effectively trumps any possible annoyance.

"So," Victor calls over his shoulder, "we're going to go down this road until that tree there."

Yuuri squints in the fading light. To their left and right, there are nothing but fields smothered by masses of snow and further down, past that tree Victor must be talking about, are shadows of conifer trees. As a matter of fact, the trees create a impenetrable wall of thickening darkness the further down the road they travel. It's like the forest creeps up on them, to both their left and right.

"And then?"

"Into the woods," Victor says, his simple response sounding carefree and slightly anticipatory.

"The… woods?"

"Yes. There's nothing out here, Yuuri."

The way Victor states the obvious, it's a thing he does when he's trying to kill a conversation effectively, brings out something that can only be described as a tang in Yuuri's voice. He's got a lot of patience, but it's stretched thin by Victor's way of making sure that their trip continues without any noticeable goal, just vague promises.

"But there's something in the woods?" Yuuri retorts, somewhat tartly.

"Of course," Victor says, again being the water resistant goose, as he's slowing down slightly so that they reach the lonely tree together. "Shit," he adds, looking at his feet, "I should have worn other shoes."

Yuuri looks at Victor incredulously. It's unbelievable that Victor, who knew where they were going, hasn't dressed for the occasion. But here Victor is, dressed in a parka, a scarf and leather gloves with those Italian bespoke dress boots. For some reason, despite being Russian and having lived long enough to see thirty Russian winters and counting, knowing very well what they are like.

"You didn't bring any other shoes?" Yuuri breathes, the giddy expectation he previously felt evaporating with the remainder of his patience.

"Skates," Victor replies with a shrug, as he takes a stride out on the field to his right, immediately sinking down to his thighs in the snow.

"Victor!" Yuuri feels winded. Not by carrying two backpacks through a close to pitch black Russian country road, but by trying to rein himself in. "Are you telling me we're going out in the snow, into the woods with you not properly dressed andㅡ"

" _Yes,_ " comes Victor's frosty reply.

They look at each other, Victor thigh-deep in snow and Yuuri carrying two backpacks while standing on the road. Yuuri can't imagine what Victor could possibly be thinking about him, but he knows that if it's anything remotely similar to what he's thinking about Victor in that moment, he'd rather they keep quiet and not voice those thoughts. Even though it itches inside.

So, when Victor looks away with an exasperated sigh, Yuuri settles some in knowing that Victor used his head. For once.

In a much softer voice, one that actually has a little warmth to it, Victor adds, "Are you coming?"

"Yes," Yuuri replies, still infuriated.

The snow that finds its way inside his boots and trouser legs as he steps out onto the field makes him groan internally. Despite that, steels himself and tries to ignore the cold while following nothing but the dim light of Victor's mobile phone lighting up their way.

Of course, it's silence that follows them through the darkness after that. Victor's leading the way across the field and into the woods, with Yuuri following and getting scratched by whipping branches and needles from the trees. They walk in silence, because they both know better than to speak when ridden by something they in truth know is wrong to think, let alone say about the other.

They walk in silence, at least for a while, until Victor stops.

Yuuri can't fully let go of their argument earlier, of being carried away by all of the things that really is Victor, and is close to say something in the lines of ' _don't tell me you're lost_ '. But he forgets all about it when Victor suddenly turns around and pulls him close with a force that makes Yuuri gasp.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love," Victor whispers and pulls him even closer, one hand on the back of Yuuri's head and the other trying to find some way around or underneath the backpacks.

"No, Victor, it's okaㅡ"

"No, it's not. It's not. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to experience this with me and… I guess you're thinking that this is stupid. Like me? For dragging you off like this when we should be doing other things? More important things?"

In truth, Yuuri thought that. He thought that Victor's whimsy had reached its peak, that they probably would have been better off staying at home, doing what was expected of them instead of running off to god-knows-where, ending up doing god-knows-what. He also thought that Victor needed to stop dictating things and expect people to just go along. Maybe Victor's the one who needs to be more pliant, instead of egocentric.

But right there and then, feeling Victor's breath in his ear, hearing Victor's honest excuse, hearing that his words have somehow reached Victor's innermost being, Yuuri melts into Victor's embrace. He melts and inevitably forgets about all the harsh things he wanted to say, all the unduly things he thought of him.

Instead of holding that grudge a second longer than he has to, Yuuri lets go of those cumbersome backpacks and reciprocates the embrace, for he knows that he's been a fool too.

When Victor's lips finally meets his, he can't help but mewl into Victor's mouth. For this is the life he wants to live with him, they days he wants to spend with him, the love he wants to feel when being close to him. No matter if being in St. Petersburg or out in some forest outside Moscow. He just wants Victor to know that, and that he's been thinking of that and nothing else since losing Victor to the world outside at Moscow's central station.

When Yuuri feels his lower lip being returned to him with the softest of sips, one he call tell that Victor is really savouring, he feels an indescribable warmth inside. One that doesn't cool off despite Victor telling him that they have to walk, just a little bit further.

* * *

Victor carries the backpacks after that, while asking Yuuri to light their way.

For some reason, being in the Russian wilderness in the dark of night doesn't become Yuuri now. It actually feels kind of pleasant, hearing Victor's directions, walking with him towards… yeah, whatever they're heading to. Despite being knee-deep in snow.

Yuuri decides to ask, while being told to go a little to his right. He decides to ask, because he wants to see if Victor is willing to finally let him in on his secret.

" _Vitya,_ " Yuuri says while looking over his shoulder, knowing that the diminutive will give him an advantage, "where are we going exactly? What's here?"

Victor is silent for a while, a small smile slowly spreading out on his face, before he answers. Like he knows he's been defeated with the use of the endearment. "We're going to a place I used to come to as a child."

Victor's words resounds within Yuuri. They become a giant thump, his heart gathering enough power before it lets go, making Yuuri stop and put his hand to his chest. Making him gasp for air.

It's the ultimate confidence, he understands, being taken to a place that shares a history with Victor. A history Victor rarely talks about, the unwritten chapters in the chronicles of him. Chapters that Yuuri have yearned after to dive into for so long, longed for to read and feel within himself.

Simply put, _Victor's story._

"Oh…" is all he manages to say as the realisation hits, making his mind stagger. He doesn't know if it's newfound respect he feels for Victor now, or just a very large addition to the love that already courses through him, but nevertheless, he's suddenly filled with something he almost can't deal with. He feels warm and incredibly _full_ , somehow.

"Oh?" Victor catches up to him, drops the backpacks in the snow, seeks out his eyes and smiles. "Is that all? Just an 'oh'?"

Yuuri nods, unable to do anything else for the time being. That sensation must leave him, spill over, or at least give some of himself back for him to do anything else. Or else, he knows that he's going toㅡ

"Oh, Yuuri…" Victor's voice is low and warm against his cheek, as he is gathering Yuuri's surprise with his now bare fingers, "Told you, you're going to love it. Come, it's right up ahead."

"I-I didn't know tha-that youㅡ"

"I know. I know, love. There's a first time for everything. Come."

They walk side by side, each now carrying a backpack of their own, ducking underneath a few branches that are buckling under the weight of the snow. Further in, Yuuri can sense the darkness thinning out, and not before long, they reach a small clearing. It's too dark now to see the surroundings but up ahead, Yuuri can just about make out the silhouette of a small building.

"I'll show you the outside tomorrow," Victor says with a low, soft voice, "but for now, let's go inside."

Victor takes the lead and walks up a few steps, the wood boards creak under his weight, up to a porch. He bends over, rummaging around in something that sounds ceramic, kind of like flower pots to Yuuri, before a muted jingle is heard.

"It's small," Victor says while using his mobile to see what key to choose. He finds the right one within a few seconds and puts the key in the lock. It takes a bit of convincing, that lock, but it finally gives in with a click, upon which Victor continues, "but it's been in the family for a while, soㅡ"

And with a push, Victor opens up the door, bidding Yuuri to enter before him.

"Welcome, love," Yuuri hears behind him as he steps over the threshold, "This is the Nikiforov family's winter _dacha_."

Yuuri can't see, only what his mobile phone manages to light up which, in all honesty, isn't much. There's a small room directly to his right which looks like a kitchen, and the larger room that spreads out immediately after coming through the front door is shrouded in darkness.

He tries to savor the moment despite not being able to see everything inside the cottage, and it comes to him that the smell he senses, just by standing there, is one he can't place. He's never smelt it in his life, and not one of the million memories that his mind tries to match together with the smell ends up right, it just doesn't click.

It's a smell of nothing from the outside, the way crisp and cold forest air smells. That smell of clean nothingness blends with the muted, damp sweetness of wood from inside the _dacha_ and another smell, one that smells like earth and age. One that really holds the key to this place.

He feels Victor's hand on his shoulder, a ' _wait a second_ ' kind of touch that ends his reveries immediately, and hears Victor close the front door behind them. Their clothes touch a little, making Victor pass him by with a low rustling sound on his way further in.

"Can I help?" Yuuri asks, his eyes slowly getting used to the shapes around the room.

"No," Victor says and drops his backpack on the floor. "I'm just going to light this and we're all set. Two seconds."

It's history he smells here, Yuuri realises. Some would probably call it age, a smell that naturally comes with old houses made by nothing but love and bare hands. But to Yuuri, the smell isn't unpleasant at all. It's a smell that makes him inquisitive, one that makes him want to find out what Victor connects with that smell. What Victor possibly could have done to add to it and, more importantly, what it has added to Victor.

Victor makes some noises further in. Yuuri kan see him on his knees first, then he stands up again, turning something on the side of the chimney that creates a metallic sound.

"There," Victor says, as if to himself while rubbing his hands together. "We need some heat."

Yuuri recognises the sound of firewood as Victor stacks it in the fireplace, and a few seconds later, the telltale sound of matches being struck followed by a low glimmer that expands and chases away the darkness.

As the fire slowly eats away at the wood, crackling and popping in a ravenous way, Yuuri walks over to Victor, still standing in front of the fireplace. He unzips his parka and removes his gloves with his teeth before he sneaks an arm around Victor's waist.

Together, they stand silent with nothing but the fire making sounds in the room. The way it dances, it's easy to get lost in and Yuuri gets lost too, watching the flames lick and spiral around. Feeling some indescribable calm standing there, close to Victor, watching the flame.

After a while, Victor huffs a laugh and unzips his parka too, before he takes it off and asks for Yuuri's with nothing but an outstretched hand.

Yuuri turns around then, shrugs out of his parka and hands it over to Victor. Mouthing a 'can I' accompanied by a sweeping gesture with his other hand.

"Of course," Victor replies. "Take a look around. You can light some of the lamps, turn the knobs on them a little before you light them, okay?"

"Mhm," Yuuri hums, picking up the small box of matches from the mantle. Feeling a veil of contentment fall upon him as he looks around for lamps to light and knobs to turn. Excited to find more pieces to add to the puzzle that is Victor.

* * *

Knobs were thusly turned and lamps were thusly lit, allowing Yuuri to acquaint himself some with the _dacha_ in the progress.

As far as he can tell, it has three rooms including the kitchen. The smaller of the three housing nothing much than a small table, a chair and a child-sized bed.

The largest room of the three, the main room, is bigger but not spacious. The room has an air to it, of being more cramped and smaller than it is somehow. Probably due to the bookcases and the other pieces of furniture that fight for the limited space. But it's the one that Yuuri keeps coming back to, there's a pull there that makes him want to explore its every nook and cranny.

But, he doesn't get very far in his expedition. He manages to light just a few lamps before Victor calls for him, asking him to join him by the fire.

Yuuri sighs a little, his eyes not really willing to leave the photos on the wall, in the bookcase, the ones on the mantle. He wants to study them more, ask about them, and it's with a slight sadness he leaves them to join Victor.

"How come," Yuuri asks when they sit together next to the fireplace on an extremely old, and extremely hard, wooden sofa whilst eating a soup Victor threw together, "there's food here?"

"An old friend of the family checks out the house every other week. I told him to stock up a little."

"Hm," Yuuri responds as he chews the softened potatoes and carrots. He has a lot of questions, but he still feels unsure when it's okay to ask them. If there ever is a good time to ask Victor about certain things. He would like to know why he never knew about this place, this _dacha_ , before. What Victor did there as a young boy. Why Victor chose to show it to him now. Amongst other things.

And, almost like a magician, or a mentalist of sorts, Victor sighs and puts his plate on the floor.

"Love? There's a lot I want to talk to you about. About this place. But, I would like to do it tomorrow, if that's okay?"

"Yes," Yuuri answers, feeling his pulse pick up immediately, "but can I ask you one thing though, Victor? Just the one?"

Victor ends up smiling again, one that engages his whole face before he leans in and kisses Yuuri's forehead. "Just the one, then," he answers, listening intently with his head a little cocked to the side.

"Okay. What I would like to know is what you needed to be sure of? I mean, about showing me this place?"

Victor blinks a few times, possibly surprised by the question. He looks away, just his eyes finding something else to rest on for a few seconds before he seeks out Yuuri's eyes again.

"That's… something I'd rather talk about tomorrow."

Yuuri accepts the answer, albeit reluctantly, but feels like he still should ask something. Something else, at least. It's like Victor reads him then, nods encouragely to allow him to ask just one more question. Which, naturally, he does.

"So… the bed there," Yuuri makes a gesture over to his right, "is that the one we're going to sleep in? And why is it placed so close to the fireplace like that?"

"Yes, we're going to sleep in it. And why it's so close to the fireplace, you ask? Hmm… Good question. Maybe my parents liked to look into the fire while they wereㅡ"

"Stop! Honestly, Victor!"

"Just giving you a possible explanation," Victor says with a shrug. "You asked, after all."

"Yes, but surely they didn't… Of course it's not here just because of… well, you know?"

"Russia has very cold winters, love."

Yuuri can't help but feel a heat rise along his chest, his face, up over his ears. Of course, there's a truth to what Victor is saying, but then again, it's sometimes hard to know when he's joking or not. So Yuuri studies him instead, tries to ignore the prickling warmth across his skin that only increases when he imagines a faceless beautiful man and a faceless, just as beautiful, woman create a life in that bed, but it's difficult.

Seeing Victor's narrow and playful eyes, that teasing smile, how Victor suddenly seems to be drenched in gold instead of his natural silver hues, how the fire just _becomes_ him, makes Yuuri wonder if this is what his parents pictured for Victor, when they made him. If they wanted Victor to continue the family legacy in the way _they_ did, here, in this _dacha_. If they wanted Victor to be the man he is. If they wanted Victor to fall in love like he did, and more importantly, if they wanted Victor to bring his love here.

Yuuri swallows and thinks that he's found the reason to his previous question, but Victor quiets him, soothes his mind with hands cupping his face and eyes smiling just as much as his mouth.

"Yuuri?"

"Y-yes?"

"I was kidding. Or, I mean, maybe they did. No, they probably did, but that's ages ago now, soㅡ"

"Victor!"

Yuuri's not sure who starts to bubble of laughter first, but not before long, the two of them are keeling over, feeding on each other's energy. Infected by the contagiousness of true, honest laughter shared between people who are comfortable with each other.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Victor sighs, bubbles up, simmers down and bubbles up again. He has a hard time to get to his feet, pick the dishes with him and go to the small kitchen area, but he does. With some struggle.

Yuuri can still hear Victor giggle from within, and he loves seeing Victor like this. This relaxed, this playful. This free. For even if Victor is like a gust of wind, one that goes where it wants while touching the lives of many, he's not without obligations and musts. Here, though, it seems like he is. And that's new.

When they go to bed, maybe a couple of hours later if that, their trousers hang on the backs of a couple of chairs standing in front of the fireplace. Victor's shoes are there too, not just as close to prevent the leather from drying up. They are, despite that, fully clothed with thin long sleeved t-shirts, socks, and sweats. The _dacha_ isn't fully heated up yet, Victor explains, which makes Yuuri think that there's a grain of truth to Victor's story. Maybe, his parents did keep warm by getting close, while waiting for the fire to heat up the rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, this became much, _much_ longer than what I intended originally. I hope you have the patience to read it through. Thank you so much for reading _Dacha_ , I hope you like this conclusion to the story.**

 **A poem is mentioned in one of the sections. It's " _I still remember that amazing moment"_ , by Russian poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin.**

 **This story came to be after seeing natsunosho's fanart on Twitter, of Victor and Yuuri in a winter dacha. Thank you, Natsuno, for giving me the permission to write a story based on your lovely fanart.**

* * *

Light is what awakens him. Light, sifting through the thin barrier made by his eyelids. It's divine, having that gentle, slightly warm caress waking him instead of a blaring alarm invading his ears. It doesn't take much for Yuuri to realise that this is a different kind of morning, just a few breaths really, before it becomes completely clear that this morning is one without got-to-dos and have-to-dos. One offering a needed change of pace.

Yuuri's whole body latches on to the feeling. He wants to stay in that, the moment of being carefree and nothing but his own. He wants more mornings like this, when he is reluctant of opening his eyes, when every single excuse for staying where he is sounds perfectly reasonable, when all he wants to do is to let his five senses slowly awaken and bring the morning as they sharpen.

But, when Yuuri does open his eyes though, after listening and smelling, after feeling, after letting this new morning embrace him, he realises that he's not home. That the morning really is of a different kind.

 _That's right_ , he thinks to himself and remembers the train ride, the bus ride and the walk from yesterday, tries to forget the exasperated sighs, snide remarks and trudging through snow. He's not in St. Petersburg, he's not even close to Moscow. He's in a cabin, one that is hidden in the woods. One that Victor has kept just as secret as the forest around it does, but finally decided to show him.

 _Oh, that's right._

"Victor?" Yuuri calls out and listens, but receives nothing but silence in return.

He finds his glasses on the floor and his mobile on the windowsill close to the bed, and is quick to return to the haven underneath the thick duvet. When he settles, his head on the pillow and the duvet not only around him but tucked underneath him as well, he shivers slightly as he turns on his mobile.

In all honesty, he expected a message to be there since Victor is nowhere to be found. The contentment he feels when his assumptions prove to be true, when he sees the number inside the coloured circle, only adds to the feeling of this being a perfect morning.

' _Good morning, Darling,_ ' the text message starts, time stamped as received more than half an hour ago, ' _if you need to use the bathroom, you have to go outside. Look for a green door to the left when you go down the stairs. Wear clothes, it's cold.'_

Yuuri smiles at the message, at the suggestion that he would walk outside wearing less than what he's wearing now and how silly that is, and continues to read, ' _I'll show you everything today. I promise. I'll be back soon, then we can eat breakfast.'_

He definitely wants more mornings like this he concludes with a happy sigh, slithering out of bed again to do what Victor proposed.

After finding the outhouse, Yuuri decides that he won't tell anyone about what it feels like, and does to a man, to sit in an unisolated excuse of a bathroom in minus-how-many-degrees centigrade. Ever. He hurries back in, followed by his huffing exhales turning into smoke behind him, and washes his hands. Because of the _dacha's_ simplicity, he does it by taking water out of a small pail in the kitchen, pouring it over in a makeshift basin made out of a large enamel bowl whilst using a tired-looking bar of soap to lather up his hands with.

Again, he feels that scent from yesterday. The scent of history, of tales untold and memories relived on his hands. Of days not yet experienced, questions unasked and answers unknown. He stays like that for a moment, smelling his hands and marvels over the way this place just takes over. How _he_ now is an, albeit brief, part of its history as well.

The understanding makes Yuuri feel something else inside, something he can't define for himself. It feels somewhat that they, he and Victor, have reached another platform in their life together. That they have reached a new understanding, or at least started to peek through that door, by coming to this place. That they are confident enough to reveal secrets to each other in a way they might not have been before. And to think that it all started with Victor coming close, asking a question and… acting on a whim to bring him here.

 _Well_ , Yuuri thinks to himself, _maybe some things never change._

Yuuri dries his hands by patting them on his sweatpants before he puts on another sweater, adamant on going outside again, and this time, to look around. He wants to see more of this place, why it has such power over Victor, and continues to dress himself with outerwear he hopes will ward off the cold. The parka, the knitted cap, the scarf, the gloves, his now dry boots, all goes on, on top and around him before he opens the door and steps outside.

The clearing the cabin is nestled into is not as big as he thought of it to be. The forest effectively frames the cabin and the open space around it, giving it a very secluded feel. It seems like nature is waiting, anticipating when she should pounce and reclaim it all when he notices the trees being that close. Yes, nature waits on the perfect opportunity to take back what once was hers.

The cabin, no, the _dacha_ , is a one story affair or at least, it seemed like that on the inside. Standing a few strides away from it with his back to the trees, Yuuri can see that there's a window just underneath the roof-ridge. He makes a mental note, he needs to ask Victor about that upper floor and what's there.

The _dacha_ is, amusingly enough, green with white intricate woodwork accents around the windows and the door. Yuuri wonders if it's a conscious choice, to make the _dacha_ blend in with its surroundings. If it has served as a place for silent contemplation and therefore, looks that understated, or if the people who have visited through time never wanted to be disturbed. He figures that it must be even more difficult to spot it during the warmer seasons, with the green woodwork blending seamlessly together with the looming branches around it.

It's a panelled construction, and a thought comes to Yuuri then, seeing the crooked boards and the flaking and fading paint that covers them. He wonders if it's possible that Victor's grandparents, or maybe great-grandparents built it themselves, and what their motivation was. Maybe, they just wanted a change of pace. Maybe, they wanted a place to call their own, away from everything else. Maybe, they built it for what was to come. Whatever that possibly could be.

Somehow, taking in the look of the _dacha_ doesn't go well together with how Yuuri sees Victor. Victor is everything the small construction isn't. He's colourful and vibrant, the _dacha_ is extremely understated and imperfect, and far from its prime. Victor is fire and flame and the _dacha_ is without heat and running water. It's a discord, trying to see how Victor can enjoy to stay in such a place when Yuuri very well knows that Victor loves comfort and luxury above all.

Maybe, this place is all about nostalgia. Maybe, this place is all about reliving things missed and things even unwanted, and that is something money can't buy.

Yuuri looks around, acquaints himself with the immediate surroundings. There's a well just where the clearing becomes a forest again, on the opposite side of the outhouse. It looks like a well pictured in any children's book he's ever read, one where secrets were kept safe and wishes were made. One built by hand by digging deep and stacking stones, with a lid over the opening. Also, there's a shed next to the main building, with a tattered, moss-green tarp hanging on its only open side. There's quite a lot of firewood in it, Yuuri notices upon inspection, and an axe hangs directly to the left of the opening.

His stomach murmurs a bit, there's something about the smell of the firewood that awakens associations. Warm meals, hot drinks, frosty eyelashes and steamy breaths. It's a jumble of memories of Japan and Russia, some of Spain during Christmas time too, all brought forth due to the delicate and sweet smell of sap and chopped trees.

Without a second thought, Yuuri picks up his mobile and tries to ignore his stomach's protests. He removes his right glove, and starts to type a text message to Victor. It takes a few tries, not that it's difficult or that his hand is cold. No, he doesn't want to hurry Victor and finding the right words to convey that is difficult. He wants him to take his time, in the exact same way that he himself took his time in the morning, but he still wants to see him. Of that, he's sure.

So, Yuuri decides to erase it after the sixth try or so, and goes off to find Victor instead. Following his footprints in the powdery snow.

* * *

Another piece of the puzzle that is Victor is added by following him like this.

Victor's purposeful strides beckons Yuuri to head in opposite direction of where they came out of the woods, the evening before. To Yuuri, whilst ducking underneath branches and veering around trees upon trees, it's hard to understand how Victor can possibly find his way. Everything looks the same, every snow-heavy branch and every frosty trunk bears the likeness of the next one over.

Yuuri tries not to focus on it though, the way nature tries to entice and confuse. The way it tries to lead him away, astray. Instead, his eyes are constantly looking out for Victor's footprints. The only guiding light he can follow through the forest and the snow.

After a while, he can almost see what Victor's been up to by studying the footprints alone. How Victor must have been caught by inspiration, stepping into a waltz-like turn with the undefined, wispy footprints as the only proof in the snow. How he had slipped a few steps later, catching his weight with must be his left hand on the ground. How the strides seemed to be a bit irregular after that, until they found their previous pace again, the same elongated strides as before the tumble.

"You're in a good mood," Yuuri laughs to himself, feeling a warmth spread out inside. Whatever it is Victor is heading for, whatever it is that makes him so full of _joie de vivre_ , is something Yuuri feels strangely thankful for. Something he wants to know more about.

It's strange, how he just wants more. To know more, to see more, to understand more, and that is what pulls him deeper. Deeper into his longing after Victor. Deeper into the woods.

Just when Yuuri's thinking that the trees are somehow getting slightly more scarce, his scarf gets caught in a particularly pesky branch. Naturally, the choking sensation makes him divert his eyes from Victor's footprints. He stops, and battles the branch, trying to rip the scarf out of its grasp. Of course it tears some in the process, the hem of it getting frayed and it starts to slowly unravel.

Yuuri feels distraught, seeing the scarf fall apart in his hands, the loose strings getting longer by the second. It is Victor's originally, that scarf. It's the one Victor gave him when he first got to Russia, unprepared for the weather. Victor had worn it, that cashmere scarf with its beige, white and red tartan pattern. Victor had worn it and unwound it without a second thought upon seeing him shiver. Victor had worn it, but he had still offered it to him with nothing but a smile.

Thinking back, Yuuri can still feel the wool being wrapping around his neck, that very first time getting off the plane at Pulkovo. He can still feel Victor's slightly chilled fingers, and how they sent more shivers through him when they made contact with his skin. He can still feel what it was like to have Victor's eyes _almost_ looking at him, although they were mostly concentrated on making sure that the scarf was tied in a stylish way. He can still feel the impact Victor's words made after that, when Victor finally looked at him. The simple ' _Welcome home'_.

The scarf becomes unimportant after that, when he looks straight ahead. When he notices that the forest has let him go for now, and that it offers him something else in return. What he is offered is a sight that instantly becomes etched into his mind, a memory for him to keep. When he feels something else, something new. Something, just for him.

Past the trees, down a small slope, is Victor.

Yuuri can't do anything else than to try to breathe. Seeing Victor skate does that to him, makes him come undone by the sheer beauty and fierce power that alternates, take turns on taking the lead. Victor's entire body is like a dance, how it creates moment upon moment unforgettable by twists and turns, by speed and suspension, by masculine and feminine, by intimate passion and formal distance. All of this inside him, breaking out in bursts when he moves.

And how he _moves._

Yuuri sees how Victor goes into a spin combination, down at the frozen lake. Victor is a kaleidoscope, the way just a slight change of posture, a hand moves differently, muscles tensing in another part of his body creates other patterns, patterns that just continues to expand and retract into an infinity of variations, variables, variegations.

Standing there, Yuuri realises that all of this is new. This Victor is new.

This isn't the Victor that shifts from playful to purposeful when he practises with Yakov. It's not the pushing and pulling Victor when he's coaching either. Nor is it the Victor, full of pride, power and predominance when he competes.

No. It's like this Victor's all that, but still, not quite. And that's when Yuuri realises what he's seeing.

When Victor falls, it's easy to think that the spell would dissipate. That Yuuri would forget his train of thought but in reality, it's quite the opposite. Victor's laugh echoes throughout the glade, his head thrown back before he pushes himself back up on his feet and dusts off his knees and ass, and it only takes a heartbeat before Yuuri feels it inside himself.

This isn't a _new_ Victor. This _is_ Victor.

It's a Victor with flaws, a Victor that plays around, a Victor that skates like noone is watching. A Victor that truly, wholeheartedly enjoys himself. Skates for himself. Feels every range of emotion, every single impulse within himself and just doesn't care what will come out of it. He just acts, without poise and composure, and surfs on it. All of it.

This Victor is far from the showman Yuuri's used to see, far from being frivolous with his time, far from being whimsical. Far from being all of the things he is but isn't at the same time. This is Victor when he truly is nothing but himself.

Yuuri sniffs then, his eyes tearing up a little as the pieces fall into place. Forgotten is the frayed scarf, the walk in the snow, the seemingly stupid decisions and the building annoyance. They're all forgotten, for Yuuri feels nothing but thankful. Thankful for Victor choosing him, for allowing him to see this, to experience this. And just as Yuuri thinks that his emotions are going to overflow, that tremble inside starting to feel like a bubbly pressure, he jolts when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Nonplussed, he takes it out, his breath not going in nor out when he sees who it's from, and reads, ' _I can see you, you know. Get over here!'_.

He almost falls, his legs unsteady and his mind racing, as he careers down the slope through the deep snow. Through the blur, he sees Victor coming closer. Waving with one arm raised above his head, until he's waiting at the edge of the frozen lake.

It's silly really, how Victor makes a show of it. How he, upon impact, spins them around like they are lovers in any cookie-cutter of a romantic movie ever made. But… that's Victor too. Victor is a kaleidoscope, an elusive morning mist, a thrashing gale, a sturdy foundation on which Yuuri feels nothing but comfortable standing on.

"Hey, you," Yuuri hears Victor whisper into his ear, still spinning, "good morning. Sneaking up on me, huh?"

Yuuri digs his head further into Victor's chest. He shakes it, or tries to, feeling their impact still causing movement.

"Stand on my feet," Victor says then, with one hand on the back of his head, gently pulling him in, and the other firmly around his lower back, begging him to stay close.

And so, they just glide together for a while, in a continuous embrace.

* * *

It's Victor who ends that moment. That moment of mutual realisation, of understanding that the both of them have experienced something new. Something shared in another light.

It's always Victor who ends moments like this, and he does so respectfully.

With a kiss followed by foreheads pressed together, and a warm exhale on Yuuri's cheek shortly thereafter, Victor asks something simple. He tends to do that, ask something almost mundane, especially after sharing something that has impact on them both.

Yuuri doesn't really know why, but he loves when Victor does that. It is as if Victor makes a point, like he knows that the moment, memory, whatever, is recorded inside the both of them and that they need something simple to pull them back. Like he knows that things need a beginning, a buildup and an end, and that his simple question is yet another beginning to an intermission until the next moment, memory, whatever, takes place. And the next one. And the next.

"Are you hungry?" is what Victor asks this time, his forehead pressed against Yuuri's and his breath bringing a transient warmth.

"Mhm," Yuuri hums in reply, wholeheartedly accepting what Victor is doing. Worshipping it, even. "We can cook together."

"I'd love that."

Yuuri sighs a little as he steps off Victor's feet, the definite punctuation to the moment they just shared, wondering if this is a good time to start with the questions he's been storing inside. He decides to test the waters as they head towards the edge of the lake, to where Victor's boots are placed.

"Victor," he begins, "why didn't you tell me to bring skates? We could have skated together."

He steps onto solid ground and offers his arm as support to Victor, who starts to undo his skates with his free hand.

"I could've asked you, yes," Victor says as he's pulling off the first skate, "but," he continues while unlacing the other, "then I wouldn't have been able to make up my mind."

"Sorry?"

"Two seconds." Victor removes his other skate and puts his foot in his boot, adjusting the legs of his trousers some before he straightens up.

Yuuri feels a flutter of worry then, in that other kind of Victor-made pause. He worries still, when he feels Victor's arm around his shoulders, coaxing him to move. He worries, when he hears Victor inhale, ready to speak.

"You see, Yuuri, this place… To me, it's sacred."

Instinctively, Yuuri wants to apologise. For feeling lonely that morning, for following Victor's footsteps. For finding him, for watching him. Oh, and the scarf too, he really needs toㅡ

"Love," Victor interrupts, his hand tightening around Yuuri's shoulder, "I've always come here, when I felt like decisions needed to be made. When I needed to think. When I just needed to… oh, how to say it…"

"B-be yourself for a while?" Yuuri breathes.

Yuuri can feel it, that fraction of a second where Victor hangs in space. Immovable before he finds himself again.

"That's it," Victor replies, a slight tone of astonishment in his voice before he finds his bearings. "I've… I've always come here, love. Ever since I was a child. To remember things, to find things, to decide on things. You skating with me would be a distraction. A wonderful one, but still a distraction."

"Oh," Yuuri says, afraid to say much else because he senses it. He senses that Victor is going to tell him something, something he really needs to pay attention to.

"So," Victor continues, "that's why I didn't ask you. But we skated together just now, wouldn't you say?"

Yuuri leans in a little, allows the side of his head touch Victor's shoulder before he nods.

"Anyway… last time I came here was after Worlds, two years ago."

This time, it's Yuuri's turn to get suspended in time and space. And he does actually stop. Stops and stares at Victor, into those blue eyes as he connects the dots.

"Wh… what did you decide?" Yuuri asks, breathless. Swept away by Victor's revelation.

Maybe it's a good an answer as any, that smile that spreads out on Victor's face, the open mouthed kiss that follows, but Yuuri really wants to hear it. He wants to hear Victor say it, because if it is what he's expecting to hear then it would meanㅡ

"That I would go for you, should you reach out to me. And you did."

ㅡthat he is a part of the history of this place, too.

"I love you," Yuuri blurts out against Victor's lips, high on the understanding what this place really is, high on the confidence that's been given him, high on the deepened trust between him and Victor.

"I love you too," Victor says, pauses for a while and then, continues. "So, tell me. How has your morning been?"

 _Wonderful_ , Yuuri thinks to himself, as he allows Victor to create yet another intermission, leading to something else he just can't wait to experience.

* * *

Walking back to the _dacha_ feels different, this time around. They partake in smalltalk, walking side by side, hand in hand, and it's a calm that settles around them. A calm based on the two of them settling in something they're both comfortable with.

Somehow, the walk back feels shorter this time around. Like they've taken another way and not the same one they did earlier that morning, even though they're following their own footprints back through the woods. Yuuri wonders why that is, why time is picking up speed around them. If this is how it's going to be now, with moments upon moments interchanging, leaving him out of breath. He wants to keep the moments, the memories, but the breakneck speed in which they're coming at him is both daunting and discouraging. How to savor them all, how to fully appreciate them, how to keep them inside himself for just a while longer?

Not before long, they come through the the last line of trees and enter the clearing, the _dacha_ acting as a reminder of all the things left unsaid and undisclosed.

Yuuri is quick to remember Victor's promise, that he will tell him everything, and wants to find his courage from before when it felt easy to ask him questions. It seems like every question opens up a new reality with its answer, before it is taken over by yet another one. He wants to breathe, rest in the fact that there's just them and that time, eventually, will slow down but it's difficult to believe that it'll happen. Not now, once the wheels have started to turn.

But still, knowing is what Yuuri wants and asking is the only way. So, as they walk up the few steps to the porch, Yuuri decides that he dares. That he can take another answer and its consequences.

"So, is there a top floor here as well?" he asks, as Victor opens the door.

"Top floor? No," Victor begins, heading straight for the fireplace to light another fire, "but there's an attic. Why?"

"I'm just curious. Is… is there anything up there?"

"You know, I'm not sure," Victor replies from his place in front of the fireplace, as he's stacking firewood. "Do you want to find out?"

"Is that okay? I don't want toㅡ"

"Of course it's okay, but don't you want to eat first?" Victor laughs, turning to face him as the fire starts its own feast.

Yuuri hums a little in agreement as he hangs up his coat after closing the door behind him. After all, no discoveries are made on an empty stomach.

So they join each other in the kitchen, Victor feeding the stove with firewood and Yuuri checking what groceries are available and together, they cook. It takes a little getting used to, using old utensils, pots and pans over a stove that either is cold or scorching, but they somehow manage to not burn the kasha, overcook the eggs and vaporise the water for their instant coffee.

When they sit down, shoulder to shoulder and heads leaning in close on that hard wooden sofa close to the fire, Yuuri decides to ask through a mouthful of porridge.

"The photos in here, who are they of?"

"Relatives, distant ones mostly," Victor answers, taking a sip of coffee shortly after. "People on my father's side."

"I couldn't see any of you? Or your parents?"

"There's one of my father, but he's very young there," Victor says, putting his coffee cup on the floor. He stands up and walks towards the bookcase, studying a few of the framed photos before he says, "Here. Yuuri, come."

Yuuri doesn't have to be told twice. He's quick to join Victor's side, almost holding his breath in anticipation.

The photograph is in black and white, slightly blurred as older photographs tend to be. It seems to have been taken outside the _dacha_ , during the summertime considering how the people are dressed. There are a few, rather rotund ladies with aprons and headsquares sitting in front and three men with impressive facial hair and caps shadowing their brows behind them. A little to the side, a boy who cannot be more than eight, maybe ten years old looks into the camera. Resembling a deer caught in headlights.

Yuuri would never have thought that this boy, this almost white eyed boy with hair that seems to be darker than Victor's, is Victor's father. Not by first glance, anyway. There's something to him that doesn't feel like Victor either. After spending a few seconds thinking, trying to figure out what it could possibly be, Yuuri settles with it might be an insecurity, perhaps?

Yuuri points and makes a small sound, and recieves a nod from Victor.

"You don't really look alike," Yuuri says after a while, feeling caught by the boy's wide-eyed stare. "Were you? I mean… alike, in any way?"

Victor huffs a little, that sound he usually makes when he's amused or surprised, and taps his lips.

"You know… I guess we were?"

Yuuri catches a glance from Victor before they both face the bookcase and the photograph again.

"Sure, I got the colour of his eyes and I thought for the longest time it was all we had in common. But in truth, I've come to realise that we were actually a bit alike. We were both seekers, father and I. We both searched for something else, something that could make us settle. Father, he… ah, he never found it, that's all. Not in the way he sought, anyway. And I guess, that's where our similarities end."

" _Vitya_ , I'm sorㅡ"

"Don't be. It's okay."

Yuuri can sense the shift in energy between them and instantly puts his arm around Victor's waist. Like his arm can act as a bandaid on something as ethereal as emotional hurt.

"Do you… what's your happiest memory of him?"

"Oh, hard question… Hm… Well, I actually think it was when we were here in the summer once. I must have been, say, six or something. I can remember it still, how it rained. What it smelled like, dirt and grass and trees. I came back, soaking wet after running down to the lake, and father sat outside on the steps."

"Were you afraid?"

"Maybe." Victor shrugs. "But that's not important."

"This doesn't sound like a happy memory, Victor."

"Oh, but it is. When I got back, he gripped my arm and told me to sit. Which I did, despite I wanted to go inside." Victor grows silent for a while, his eyes seeing something Yuuri cannot. They go back and forth, before they still. Before Victor speaks anew. "Oh, I _really_ wanted to go inside... I… I can't exactly remember what he said, but it was something like ' _There will come a time when you don't know what to do, boy. First, you think long and hard. Then, you surprise them.'_ Something like that."

It feels like Victor's words, no, his father's words, are hanging over them. Filling them up with an understanding that transcends beyond themselves.

Yuuri hugs Victor then, pulls him as close as he possibly can, because he doesn't _know_ and that won't change, no matter how many questions he'll ask Victor. He doesn't know what it feels inside to have lived a life like Victor's, but he reacts to it nevertheless. Imagines what it would do to himself, what it has done to Victor. Wonders if it's a strength or a weakness and settles in thinking it's probably a bit of both, whilst feeling something that resembles a sadness take him over.

"Don't," Yuuri hears Victor whisper into his hair. "Nothing of that matters, I'm happy now. I'm happy here, with you."

"Are you sure?" Yuuri whispers back, his lips straying to find skin to be pressed against.

"Positive. So, are you finished eating?"

"Just about."

"Take your time. I'll try to find something to stand on. We have an attic to explore."

* * *

Sadly, the attic proved to house nothing more than a few boxes, making Yuuri feel more than a little disappointed. He thought he would step into a Nikiforovian treasure trove, filled with mementos and keepsakes. Things that would make him feel that more blanks were suddenly filled. Instead, the boxes are filled with curtains, some hand-weaved carpets and rusty tools. Oh, and an old chamber pot, one that Victor asks if they should take down. That way, they won't have to go outside, Victor jests, but Yuuri is certain that he would rather sit out in the cold than inside. Especially if he has to relieve himself in front of someone else. It doesn't matter that it's Victor.

After the uneventful attic adventure, they undress before they end up in bed. Their clothes smell of dust and dirt, and since the bedclothes are their own, they decide that it's better to keep decades worth of dust contained.

Yuuri feels tired, his eyes getting heavier by the seconds that pass while he's resting with his head on Victor's chest. Victor's breaths, his expanding ribcage, the way his heart slowly thumps… they lull him, pull him closer and closer to the fine border between being asleep and awake.

Victor, on the other hand, is reading. He picked out a book from the bookcase, one that seems to have been read frequently due to its loose bindings and folded dog ears just about everywhere.

"You've read this before?" Yuuri yawns, his fingers picking a little at Victor's skin.

"Many times," Victor responds in a distant way, not taking his eyes off the page.

"What kind of book is it?"

"It's poetry. Pushkin."

The name doesn't mean anything to Yuuri, other than he knows for a fact that Victor's got one or a couple of books by that poet at home. That's another thing Yuuri finds astounding with Victor. How he reads, how he mulls things over, how he's a great observer. A true master of small details and bigger pictures. Those things are not the what comes to mind when Victor's name is mentioned during discussions.

In fact, Yuuri never thought Victor had such a side to him, never knew it either. But, moving to St. Petersburg forced him to reassess his fiancé and coach within the first couple of weeks. Victor reads, and does it whenever the opportunity comes his way. He not only reads, he feels the words. Almost in the same way he feels music inside when he skates.

"What's so good about Pushkin?" Yuuri asks, his hand flush against Victor's stomach.

Victor stops reading then, folds the book closed with his index finger in between the pages and puts it down on the bed.

"What's so good about Pushkin? Well," Victor coos, and strokes Yuuri's back with his free hand, "for one, he writes about a lot of things, but what he says about love is amazing."

"Read to me, then," Yuuri says, trying to find Victor's eyes with his own and gets just the briefest flash of blue. "It doesn't matter if it's in Russian, just read a little."

Victor shifts a little underneath him as he makes himself comfortable, trying to open the book with one hand without dropping it. He turns quite a few pages, before he stops with a solemn look on his face. "I can translate it if you like, love," he says, getting his other hand free to hold the book steady.

"Please," Yuuri says, stifling yet another yawn.

"Just a moment," Victor says. He grows silent after that, reading a little to himself and probably making some kind of head start with the translation. And then, he reads out aloud.

" _I still remember that amazing moment_

 _When you appeared before my sight_

 _As though a brief and fleeting omen,_

 _Pure phantom in enchanting light_

 _Locked in the depression's hopeless captive,_

 _In haste of clamorous processions,_

 _I heard your voice, soft and attractive_

 _And dreamt of your beloved expressions_

 _Time passed. In gusts, rebellious and active,_

 _A tempest scattered my affections_

 _And I forgot your voice attractive,_

 _Your sacred and divine expressions_

 _Detained in darkness, isolation,_

 _My days would slowly drag in strife_

 _With lack of faith and inspiration,_

 _With lack of tears, and love and life_

 _My soul attained its waking moment:_

 _You re-appeared before my sight,_

 _As though a brief and fleeting omen,_

 _Pure phantom in enchanting light_

 _And now, my heart, in fascination_

 _Beats rapidly and finds alive:_

 _Devout faith and inspiration,_

 _And gentle tears and love and life."_

Yuuri lies still, suddenly wide awake. Feeling the words Victor's just read course through him. He can't understand why the thing they share, what lives and grows in between the two of them, suddenly feels so vast. So difficult to comprehend. Even more impossible to describe. But in some way, some almost uncanny way, hearing Victor read Pushkin has made him feel like there is a way to convey all of that in words. It feels comforting, knowing that.

He gets lost, lost in thinking that he has found yet another piece to that puzzle of his. The one with a seemingly infinite amount of pieces, the one with a picture he still doesn't know the pieces will show. And that's when he feels it, underneath himself.

It starts small, like Victor's heart is beating with an irregular rhythm. Like it speeds up only to slow down before it picks up again. It continues, with Victor putting the book down, closing it before it ends up on the floor. It builds, with Victor's hands digging into him, craving him or at least, needing the feel of him. It culminates, with Victor putting his face into his hair whilst curling up, whilst vibrating. Whilst shaking, whilst quaking, whilst coming undone.

Then, Yuuri knows that even though he finds a myriad of pieces to the puzzle he considers to be Victor while being in this place, Victor just found one himself. One that Yuuri is more than happy to give, only to be offered in return.

* * *

When they wake, it's early afternoon. They wake, with limbs entangled, without the possibility to know where they begin and end. They wake, without a word but with eyes that speak through the silence.

Victor's eyes are blue. So unfathomably blue. Like all possible variations of the colour are forced into such a tiny space, fighting for dominion. Yuuri knows the patterns by now, the variations in Victor's irises. How his left has a small dash of gray and his right is blue without compare. How they look like lunar landscapes up close.

But now, Victor veils them, his lashes shadowing those neverending blue.

"I'm sorry," Victor says, his voice slightly raspy, "I didn't mean to."

Yuuri says nothing. To him, it's unbelievable that Victor feels like he has to excuse himself for showing a side he rarely displays. It's unbelievable that Victor asks for forgiveness for being human, when in fact Yuuri feels honored to be a part of that. For moving Victor as much as Victor moves him. For knowing that Victor too feels overwhelmed too by what they share, what they feel.

Instead of talking, Yuuri frees a hand and it finds Victor's cheek. Just resting there, finding a pride in being allowed to.

When Victor finally opens his eyes, when he finally lets Yuuri have access to them and what's going on behind them, Yuuri speaks.

"I understand now, Victor," he says, his thumb going back and forth across Victor's cheek without hardly any pressure at all, "why you wanted to make sure. Why you had doubts about if you were ready or not."

Victor sighs a little then, a vibrating kind of exhale. Yuuri can't help but wonder if Victor feels relieved, if he understands that they both have been giving and receiving just as much by coming here, by staying in the _dacha_.

"Are you okay," he asks, kissing Victor's nose, listening to their combined exhales. The way his own is slightly shallow, the way Victor's more deep.

Victor hums his response and pilfers a kiss off of Yuuri's lips, with the tiniest hint of playfulness in his eyes.

"But," Yuuri says after tasting what Victor's tongue left on his lips, continuing his thought from before, "what I don't understand is what you needed to be sure _of_. I mean, I can understand the doubt. This is a special place for you, but… you have shown me this place now andㅡ"

"Love, I don't want you to misunderstand me. Okay?"

"Mhm?"

"I've been meaning to show you the _dacha_ for a very long time, that's the truth. But, when I come here, it's always been to sort things out. You know?"

"Right."

"Thing is, I've been thinking. About you and me."

Yuuri's breathing hitches. It's like turning on a faucet, opening a window in a dark room. It floods him. All his possible fears of not being enough, of not being what Victor wants, of not doing what he's supposed to, crashes into him. It's like he's standing on train tracks, and becomes run over by the train that is his worries and trepidations.

"Yuuri? You're thinking too much," Victor interrupts.

"How can I do anything else when… when you say a thing like that?"

"Listen. Before, I was thinking of selling this place. I couldn't find a need for it anymore, you know?"

"Whㅡ"

"But, I wanted you to see it before I did and coming here, and, well… It made me realise something."

Yuuri tries to look away, afraid of what he's going to hear. Afraid of he can ever be what he suspects Victor wants him to be. If Victor finds satisfaction in being the centre of everywhere he is, more so than being with him.

"I want to keep it. And the reason is… well… it's simple, really."

Victor unbraids himself from Yuuri then, makes a show of reaching over to his side of the bed where he has his bag on the floor.

Yuuri doesn't know where to look, if he should keep his eyes on Victor's wiggling ass up in the air or what he's _actually_ doing, but the former is what occupies him until Victor straightens up.

"Yuuri," Victor says, reaching out to enclose Yuuri's hand in his, "what I wanted to be sure of was simple. I wanted to be sure if this was the place I could ask you to help me make another decision. So far, I've made all the important decisions in my life here, but… on my own. And I really feel like now is the time to make yet another."

Yuuri's mind is blank. He's not even sure if that train he was worried about before actually hit him, or if it's another train in passing. All he can do is to look at Victor in bewilderment, trying to understand the nature of things. How he has ended up where he is, why Victor is holding his hand, why Victor is palming something and doing a bad job of hiding it.

"Yuuri? Will you help me? Help me make the most important decision of my life today?"

* * *

Yuuri's awake, even before the alarm goes off. He's awake and has been for a while, looking at his right hand where one ring has been joined by another. It becomes him, he thinks, the way it looks. The way he's been branded. The way he's definitely _his_.

He intercepts the alarm, turns it off a few minutes before it will shove them back into a reality where there are things to do, places to go. Lives to live. It doesn't feel that bad now, though. Their reality has undoubtedly changed, and if it's on a whim or maybe even meticulously planned, he cannot say. But he's thankful for it. All of it, every single piece of it.

Thoughts are easy to succumb to, and Yuuri does it again. He thinks about the weekend, about Victor, about himself. About them. About what's to come and if _this_ will be forgotten when it does.

 _No_ , he thinks to himself, hearing Victor's steady breaths behind himself. _I will never forget._

He knows that it's true. He will never forget. Victor has made sure that this weekend, this weekend that started rocky and made him think thoughts he now feels ashamed of revisiting, has now become etched inside him. With all its memories and moments, realisations and reactions, this weekend is the most important one he's experienced together with him.

It's a little bittersweet, knowing that they have to leave in a few hours time, leave all of the magic this place has offered the both of them behind. Yuuri turns around with a sigh and burrows his way closer, until he feels every part of his front being in contact with Victor's warm, sleeping body.

" _Vitya_ ," he whispers, kissing Victor's shoulder, his neck, his lips, "we need to get going."

Victor makes a noise then, something that resembles both a sigh and a mewl, and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in.

"No," Yuuri scolds, "up. We need to get up."

"I know. Just let me have this for a second," Victor sighs dreamily, before his eyes fling open. "Shit. Yes. We need to get going."

It becomes a flurry of things after that. Of things being packed, put into place and taken out again. Of clothes being put on, exchanged between each other. Of breakfast made on the go, of lights put out and knobs turned the other way, of dampers being closed as well as doors. Of smiles, of touches, of laughs and hands being held. Of memories created, stored, pulled out and remembered.

But, they manage to get out of the door, lock it and head into the woods despite that, adamant on making it in time.

"We kind of need to hurry," Victor pants as he's trudging through the snow, "there's only one bus on Sundays."

Yuuri can't help but find himself amazed again, hearing Victor's words when they're criss-crossing between the trees. That part of Victor, the one that is all about business and obligations, is easy to forget about. Even though Victor seems to be driven by nothing but impulse and childish whims, he's gotten where he is by knowing where to go. And knowing where to go is something you learn by falling, by getting up again. By constantly trying, by practising. By wanting, wishing, never giving up. By mesmerising. By surprising.

Hard work is something that inspires Victor, Yuuri knows that too. And he has made a vow to himself that he will be all of that Victor wants him to be, he will push himself further to meet him where he is. No matter the cost.

"Yeah," Yuuri smiles to himself, trying to keep up with Victor's pace as they begin to see the snow covered fields, the lonely, gnarly tree close to the road.

"Oh, by the way," Victor exclaims upon turning around, pointing at Yuuri, "what happened to the scarf?"

Instead of feeling embarrassed, although there's a flutter of that passing by initially, Yuuri feels pride inside when he answers.

"You did."

They look at each other, standing two steps apart. Victor being nothing but a stride away from the fields, while Yuuri's still underneath the branches bending because of the weight of the snow.

It's like looking into a mirror, or at least, that's the feeling Yuuri gets when he sees Victor. There's another dignity to him now, to Victor. A relaxation. And in that moment, that split second of looking at the man he loves, Yuuri understands why.

"Victor?"

He understands why, because he's feeling the same way too.

"Let's go back."

Their individual puzzles have just become one, one they will continue to add pieces to for as long as they share a life together. And oh, how he wants to add more to their story, because that's probably what the picture is, once it's finished. A chronicle of them, of what they share and have, and what they will give and receive. Through the days, months and years they intend to spend on each other.

"Yuuri…"

"Let's go back. To the _dacha_. We don't have to be there for long, just until tomorrow. Please." Yuuri takes the two steps or so to erase the distance between them, his fingers closing around the collar of Victor's parka, his lips touching Victor's when he whispers his wish. "Let's go back."

If there was a flurry before, it becomes a race. Both literally and figuratively. It becomes a race, because they find themselves out of breath, their bodies moving faster through the maze of trees. It becomes a race, because they find themselves needing to push, needing the other to go faster, needing the other to keep up.

So when they reach that little cabin, with its crooked boards and fading paint, with its memories made and stored, they begin to descry the finish line.

* * *

They come through the door, latched onto each other. They come through the door, their mouths seeking what their hand yet can't reach.

There are no words shared between them, not yet, as Yuuri pushes Victor up against the wall and kicks the door shut. He wants more of him, needs more, yearns for it, when his kisses becomes heated, hungry, messy. Losing poise and refinement with every touch, every flick of his tongue.

"Yuuri, wait," he hears Victor say. It's muted, the sound. Almost in his throat, which makes Yuuri break away.

"Wh-what?"

"Let me light the fucking fire," Victor pants into his mouth.

Yuuri laughs then. He doesn't know if it's genuinely funny or downright bizarre, but Victor really is asking him to slow down. He doesn't want to, not really, but he obliges and lets Victor go with a sigh after their backpacks end up on the floor but before their parkas are hanged up again.

"Why does it take so damn long," Victor scowls on his knees, lighting matches upon matches and trying to make the fire flare up.

"It's fine," Yuuri comforts from where he stands. He says it with an earnest tone in his voice, but it's not fine. The white lie is full of greed, just below the surface. It takes him over, the yearning he has for release. To indulge. To just get lead astray by the Victor he now knows.

After Victor utters a mumbly, colourful tirade in Russian, probably brought on by his frustration caused by the extremely stubborn fire that just won't start, Yuuri's need gets vocal.

It starts with a touch, his hand on Victor's shoulder. Victor doesn't catch on to Yuuri's annoyance, his need being caught between wanting and wanting to light a fire, so Yuuri continues.

It's tentative, the way he gets on his knees and picks at the hem of Victor's shirt. He knows that, but at the same time, he can't be someone he's not. And he knows, and that's probably why he can continue to be timid in situations like this, that Victor knows what his small, seemingly insignificant gesture means.

Immediately, Victor's eyes are on his. They are blown up by the unspoken language shared between them, although just for a moment, before they narrow into a smile.

Victor is quick to toss the match he's holding into the fireplace, quick to get on his feet and pull Yuuri up with him.

Yuuri blushes a little, being pulled up on his feet. When his hands seek out Victor's belt. He looks up at Victor, underneath the rims of his glasses and some black, stray strands. Of course, he's spurred on by Victor's hands around his face, Victor's lips touching his, Victor's tongue not asking for permission.

So, he steels himself. Starts with opening the fly of Victor's trousers, his eyes firmly locked on his own hands when he grabs the belt.

Victor huffs then, that tell-tale sound of him being amused, with his forehead pressed against Yuuri's. "Go on," he says, almost on a dare.

It's strange to Yuuri, how natural it is to Victor. How he's never fazed no matter what setting, no matter what made them heated and heady, no matter what's being done to him. Of course, there are questions to be asked about that too, but now is not the time.

He hates that his hands are fumbly, like they aren't his to control in situations like this. The way they shake, the way they just can't make it seem easy or natural. Despite knowing that he wants to, that Victor wants him to, it still feels like a first time undoing his belt, undoing that button.

The heat rises to Yuuri's ears when Victor's trousers won't slide down by themselves. They're clinging on to Victor, to his hips and his ass, with seemingly no intention of letting go. Yuuri's relieved to feel Victor's hands underneath his sweater, taking away some of the embarrassment brought on by Victor's clothes fighting him, not allowing him the prize he seeks.

"Take off your glasses, love," Victor breathes into his ear, before his sweater gets pulled over his head, off of his arms and, simply, dropped on the floor.

Yuuri's skin reacts to the chill, the still unlit fireplace, the realisation that he now is more undressed than Victor.

"Cold?" Victor teases, exhaling a slow huff of air on his shoulder. Continuing with spreading the heat with a lick and a nip, which makes Yuuri shiver.

"You know I am," Yuuri whispers, feeling his skin tighten as it becomes smothered with a myriad of bumps.

Victor coos, a sound from deep within him, and removes his shirt. Somewhat, at least.

The way he's standing with his arms still in the sleeves and that smile teasing the corners of his lips, albeit just for a few seconds, is enough for Yuuri to feel his body react. This time, it's a scorching heat taking him over, negating the bumpy skin and the shivering muscles. He becomes tense instead, his blood rushing, his mind starting to lose both sense and composure.

"Take them off," he breathes, daring to put his hand on Victor's hip, slightly underneath the waistline of the trousers. "Take them off, now."

And Victor does. He starts with removing his shoes, using his hands. After, he caresses the garment off himself, touching Yuuri's hand with his own as they travel across his hips, down his thighs.

When the trousers pool at Victor's feet, he doesn't step out of them. Instead, he gets down on his knees.

The sight makes Yuuri swallow. His mind is fighting itself, fighting its own double nature. He wants to be at Victor's mercy, but at the same time, he wants to be more. He wants to act on what he's feeling inside, the ever spreading lust that heightens his senses. He wants to show Victor that he can be something else, something just a multifaceted as him.

"Get up," Yuuri says, feeling impressed by his own tone of voice, the way it sounds much more assertive than before.

Yuuri catches a smile on Victor's face. It's just a hint of a smile, really, brief and easy to miss, before their eyes lose the contact when Victor stands up. He wonders what it stands for, that smile, but loses his train of thought as their eyes meet again.

"And now?" Victor says. It's almost inaudible, like he's mouthing the words, but in the quiet of the _dacha_ , they ring loud and clear. Like a warcry on a battlefield.

The loud pop makes them both flinch, makes them look to the side.

A small ember seems to have survived against all possible odds and makes one desperate try, its heat struggling to take over one of the logs in the fireplace. And just like that, may it be a fluke or divine intervention, the fire starts to claw at the firewood, starts to consume it as it builds. As it grows stronger, wanting to scorch all and everything it comes across.

Yuuri's lips are on Victor within the second. On his lips, on his chest, on his stomach. On his hips, on his thighs. His hands travel, looking for places to explore.

As he sinks to his knees, his fingers digging into Victor's hips, he kisses the fabric of Victor's underwear. The moan he is awarded with from above acts as his own personal kindling, his flame feeding on what the sound makes him feel.

Feeling his breath pick up, he puts his fingers underneath the waistband of Victor's underwear and slowly reveals him, savors every bit of skin being exposed.

"I love you," he breathes, as the fabric travels across Victor's hips, down his thighs.

He feels Victor's hand on his head, his fingers digging into his hair.

"I want you," he continues, as Victor stands bare before him, asking him to step out of his underwear with a small touch to his ankles. "On the bed."

Victor fists his hand into his hair, and holds on, just for a heartbeat. Like he's deciding on something, or trying not to act on something. But, he lets go and backs up towards the bed, pushing himself towards the middle once he's seated.

Yuuri takes a step closer to the bed, looking down whilst undoing the button of his jeans with steady hands.

When he looks up, he freezes. Not because his jeans are quick to do what Victor's trouser's didn't, not because of his arousal straining against his underwear. No, he freezes, because he sees Victor. Victor, bare before him with a radiating, unparallelled confidence. Victor, lavishly painted in gold with the reflections from the fireplace playing across his skin. Victor, touching himself whilst looking at him, without so much as blinking.

"Stop that," Yuuri says, not as commanding this time. He finds his voice different now, almost taken by what he sees.

Victor answers with nothing but a smile and lets himself go with an almost defiant gesture, almost like a flourish. Continuing on looking Yuuri straight into his eyes, he makes a little noise. It's defiant too, a 'tsk-tsk'-kind of sound, and props himself up with his hands, shifting his weight onto them as he leans back. Then, he watches, with his lips slightly parted and his chest heaving. Asking Yuuri to continue with his whole being.

Yuuri answers to Victor's call. He takes yet another step closer to the bed, feeling his pulse pick up. There's something about seeing Victor like this that makes him dare, that makes him bend his own boundaries a bit. That's why he commands Victor, with a look and a purposeful imploration, to watch him.

"Look at me," he says, his hands reaching down to the waistband of his underwear.

"I am," Victor replies, his voice thick and needy. "I am looking at you."

In that moment, Yuuri doesn't feel anything other than possessing an immense power. The fact that he entices Victor, makes him anticipatory and unable to lie still, that he wields such influence over him by just standing in front of him… it makes him bold, _daring._

Gone is the need to cover his lust when he becomes bare. Gone is the role he usually submits to, that of the submissive. Gone is any possible doubt that he's not enough. For he has seen what he does to Victor; the fingers clawing into the sheets, the muscles rippling underneath his skin, the way Victor wants, wants, wants but stays where he's told.

It's Yuuri's knee that touches the bed first. Then a hand. Then another knee. It's like he's on the prowl, ready to strike on a prey that knows what will happen. A prey that is anticipating what's to come.

Yuuri feels Victor touch his elbow as he runs his fingers through Victor's hair. It's soft, silky to the touch, when it glides through his fingers.

Victor's knee rubs against him, between his legs, but he disregards the cheap trick. Both of his hands are in Victor's hair now, close to being contracted into fists, close to taking hold of his hair and pull his head back. But he doesn't grab, hold or pull, not when his mouth is starving for contact with Victor's lips.

Yuuri looks down at Victor then, looks down into his eyes that are narrow, almost obscured by the now golden lashes. Victor's head tilts back on its own accord, his mouth slightly open.

"Take care of me, love," Victor whispers. "Please."

"Yes," Yuuri replies, just as low, before they kiss.

It builds quickly from there, with hands all over, mouths insatiable, bodies pressing into each other, bodies finding positions and placements. It turns into motion and friction, purpose and ambition, when Yuuri presses his thighs tightly around Victor's firmness, as Victor is moving, revving, pausing, repeating.

"I-I want you to come too," Victor pants from behind, his fingers digging into Yuuri's hips. "I can suck you, love."

Yuuri makes a noise of frustration. It's not what he wants. He doesn't want Victor to ask, he doesn't want Victor to think of him. Not now, not here. Not when Victor has shown all of him and he, on the other hand, has a lot more to prove.

He almost wants to pry Victor's hand off him, the one that has ventured between his legs. He wants to be the giver, be the unselfish one and stand proud knowing that he has offered everything he could possibly give. But instead, he puts his hand on Victor's and dictates the pace, the rhythm, the pressure, and takes pride in that.

When Yuuri feels Victor's forehead pressed in between his shoulder blades, when Victor's hips are starting to move slower, make more shallow motions against him, he lets go. He lets go of Victor's hand around himself and puts his onto the mattress. Ready to carry the weight of them combined.

Realising that Victor has told the truth all along, for there suddenly is no need of a fire heating him up.

* * *

Victor is quick to fall asleep, taken by the bliss that follows release. Yuuri watches him, tucked in underneath the duvet. Watches the snow fall outside the window.

A sting of guilt hits him then, and he reaches for his phone.

Yakov answers immediately.

"Feltsman."

"Hi, Yakov. It's Yuuri."

"Hrmph. Yes?"

"I'm sorry for this weekend. Truly."

There's a pause. One which makes Yuuri count the seconds, for the pause is seemingly never ending. He reaches sixteen.

"Yes. Thank you. I'm not mad with _you_ , though, Yuuri."

"Oh. Ah… I'm calling to, um, let you know that we won't be coming in tomorrow. We… we missed the bus back. I'm… I'm sorry. "

Yakov sighs. It's a long sigh.

"So, um…"

"I honestly don't understand what's wrong with him! He calls me to cancel _his_ meetings and now he makes _you_ call me too? He's unbelievable."

"Iㅡ"

"That idiot. That idiot. Yuuri, can I be honest with you?"

"Well, yㅡ"

"Don't let him take charge like that, you hear? Victor, he's a selfish child. Gifted, but selfish. If you give him your finger, he'll take your arm and drag you places without you having a say! He'll make you do the things he wants to do. Don't let his bad judgement spill over onto you. You hear?"

Yuuri can't stop the smile that takes over, that makes him put a hand to his chest to contain the warmth, the love, that radiates from within. Victor does keep secrets. But... not from _him_.

"You will never understand him. I've spent more than twenty years trying to. It's impossible, you'll never figure him out."

Yuuri inhales, ready to stand up for Victor. The Victor he now knows. But, he decides against it with a laugh, when the only reasonable answer comes to him.

"Yakov? I don't mind."

 **-the end-**


End file.
